


do you want to be with somebody like me?

by BriTheSweet



Category: Marble Hornets, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriTheSweet/pseuds/BriTheSweet
Summary: Trigger Warning: mentions of self-harm, and possible drug addiction?This is based on an observation I made, where in Entry #65, when Hoodie checks for pills in the box in Tim's house, there's avisible razor blade. Couple along with the fact that Tim struggles and has been struggling with mental health issues for a long time now, and as such, was said to be "at risk for suicide" (more or less the exact quote). I decided to go along with that and write this. I'm sorry for the more self-indulgent stuff I added near the end, I just waNT TIM TO BE HAPPY GODDAMN--





	do you want to be with somebody like me?

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: mentions of self-harm, and possible drug addiction?  
> This is based on an observation I made, where in Entry #65, when Hoodie checks for pills in the box in Tim's house, there's a [visible razor blade](http://prnt.sc/kcaab8). Couple along with the fact that Tim struggles and has been struggling with mental health issues for a long time now, and as such, was said to be "at risk for suicide" (more or less the exact quote). I decided to go along with that and write this. I'm sorry for the more self-indulgent stuff I added near the end, I just waNT TIM TO BE HAPPY GODDAMN--

It's a peaceful night. As peaceful as a midsummer Alabama night could be. The sun was dipping down, the sky a gradient of dark blues and purples, faraway stars littered the approaching cover of night. The air's hot and oppressive, the type of humidity that clung to your skin—cicadas chirped and fireflies bumbled around, their luminescent bodies flickered off and on like light switches. Sounds of nature filled my ears as I walked on a grassy path, my worn-out sneakers crunching the grass beneath my feet. Tim's house was up ahead, a noticeable light source beaming out of a window. I knocked on the wooden door, knuckles rasping on the hollow wood. I heard faint movement inside followed by a shaky and unsure "Come in."

Tim's a good friend. Boyfriend? With all the things that've been going on, like being chased by a crazed former friend and an eldritch being stalking your every move, there's hardly any moments where we'd really be honest and talk about our feelings. But, we did both admit that we liked each other, that we wanted to be together—just not at the moment, not until something gets done with this _thing_.

Coming into his house with a _squeeeaaak_ from the door, I closed it behind me and made sure it's locked (better safe than sorry). Tim's on the floor in front of his bed, hands visibly trembling and rocking back and forth. It looked like he's resisting, holding back from something that wasn't there. I knew there was, though—that he's dealing with his own internal struggle. He's breathing heavily, coughing like he had bronchitis.

I didn't look at him directly as I walked past; if I looked at him for too long in this state, my heart would start to hurt. Sometimes I cursed myself for being so empathetic, but looking at somebody you care about like this, so defenseless and scared, it tugged on my heartstrings. As much as I tried to hide it, to push it back, tears prickled at the corners of my eyes and my throat tightened.

Pushing it all down, I looked at the small wooden box on his bedside table, opening it up. An orange pill bottle filled half empty of large white pills sat in the middle. I grabbed it, clenching it tightly in my hand for a second. Tim had become near dependent, if not completely, on these. I didn't blame him, after all, they did seem to work―and anything to keep the horrors at bay for as long as possible. I still hated how he'd start out by taking one pill, two pills, only to then swallow the whole bottle.

When I went to put the box lid back on, I noticed something new. I didn't know how long it's been there, how I never noticed it at all until now—a razor blade. It's pretty small, pushed into the far right corner. Was Tim hiding this from me? Admittedly, he did lie from time to time, but it's never really out of malice, just out of fear and the hazy mindsets he tended to go into.

"Tim?" I tried to say softly, not letting on that my heart felt like it's pounding against my ribcage.

"Y-Yeah...?" he asked, looking up at me, trying to stifle another cough.

"Why..." The words almost left my mouth—that question a summarization of how I felt; why? My mind finished the question, forcing my mouth to almost move on its own. "Why do you have a razor blade?"

Tim's only response was to look down again. Before he did, I saw his eyes; they went dark and closed, clenched shut as he covered his face with his hands. I saw him shaking more now.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," was what he mumbled out as I went over to kneel at his side, still clinging to the pill bottle, a vice grip on it as I tried my hardest not to cry again. Hot tears streamed down my face. Sometimes my best wasn't enough.

"Tim, Tim, look at me, look at me, please." I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to be as comforting as I could, even though I could barely hold myself together right now.

"I-I'm awful, I really am the worst, aren't I?" Tears welled up in his eyes, voice breaking.

"No, you aren't," I said, shaking my head. I put my hand on his cheek gently, feeling his small patches of stubble as I slowly tilted up his head to keep his eyes level with mine. "Tim, you're not the worst, okay? You aren't." His eyes were all over the place until he finally settled on mine, blinking, and a small single tear rolled down his cheek. I wiped it away with my thumb. "Just, for your safety and for my mental health, I need to know. Why do you have a razor blade?"

It's dumb to ask that question—knowing Tim's history, what he's been through, I knew there's one reason why he'd have one. But, I think a part of me wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, praying so desperately that he'd give me a completely different reason; that I'd breathe a sigh of relief. The relief never came as he looked at me, eyes soft and weak, looking like he'd given up.

"I think you already know."

With those words, my guess was unfortunately right, especially when he then looked down at his arms.

"Can I– May I see your arms? Please?" I half-asked, half-pleaded. He turned over his arms; nothing's there. A sigh did leave my lips, but it's quickly sucked back in.

"I mainly do it on my wrists," he added on, and sure enough, my eyes trailed down to the markings. They're small and slightly scarred; some were in the process of healing, some weren't.

All the feelings inside me—all the emotions of pity, sympathy, uselessness—it all bubbled up into the spontaneous hug I gave Tim, wrapping my arms around him. I might've gotten a few tear stains on his shirt, but right now, the shirt's the least of my worries; it's the man wearing it who's important right now. I stayed there for a few seconds and felt a hand go on my back. It's comforting, a warm touch, the one that always made me feel safe. I returned the favor, to which he replied by rubbing my back. I pulled off of him and sat next to him.

"I, I won't say you're terrible. You really aren't. You're not bad for what you've done, to others and yourself. I know it's tough, I know things're tough, but," I put my hand in his, "try to not do this." His hand's bigger than mine, a bit calloused, but his gentle squeeze on mine made all my worries seemingly melt away.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. I really am. I promise I'll try not to keep up this bad habit of mine. If I ever feel like doing it again I'll tell you."

I looked up at him with fake puppy-dog eyes, trying to lighten the mood. "Really?" It got a chuckle out of him, a small feat that I took as an accomplishment.

"Really," he simply stated. Handing him the pill bottle, he took half of the pills in there, shaking them around a bit. "Looks like I'm gonna need a fill-up soon."

"Next time you go to the doctor's, tell them, or I can just remind you," I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

"What're you, my calendar?" he asked jokingly, placing the bottle next to him and looking at me.

"Seems like I'm more of your nurse." I was drained, emotionally and mentally, my voice sounding like I was about to pass out any minute. Even so, I grinned after my response. At least if I was by Tim's side—and he's safe—I felt safe, too. Safe enough to fall asleep while still on his shoulder.

"With you around, you can also be my medicine," he responded quietly, brushing my hair out my face. Squeezing my hand one more time and rubbing his thumb over it, he rested his head on mine and fell asleep soon after.

Finally, a peaceful night.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Lonely Hearts Club" by Marina And The Diamonds, you can listen to it [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuwZ_WTBWRo).  
> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are much appreciated.


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